


30 Days of NSFW Challenge: John/Sollux

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 19,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meme taken from <a href="http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/31013467173/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfw-version">here</a>.</p><p>2x2 compliant, but not necessarily 2x2 canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Naked Cuddles

You love waking up before Sollux. It happens almost every day, but the novelty never wears thin. His body runs hotter than yours—you think it might be a troll thing—so the two of you never wear clothes when you share a bed. No need. Plus, sometimes you… kinda end up falling asleep naked. After.

When you run the tip of your nose from his shoulder to his throat, he breathes out heavy. Still sleepy. His genetics still think he should be nocturnal, not diurnal. You’re not too keen on getting out of bed right now either. Right now, without your glasses, your bodies blur together in the hint of morning.

Cuddling with him is like cuddling with the snarl of wire hangers in the back closet of a dry cleaning place. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You kiss the spur of bone that juts out at the top of his spine and sling a leg over his, spooning him even closer. You’re not going anywhere.


	2. Naked Kiss

Your clothes are off.

You’re nervous as hell.

Sollux kisses you honey-trickle slow, sticky-sweet, and holds your face in his hands, carefully keeping his claws away from your cheekbones, rubbing his palms into your late-night stubble.

You wish you could say this makes you stop being nervous, but it just keys you up more. In a slightly different way, to be sure, but the tension is still there. “Can we turn off the lights?” you ask him once he pulls back.

He doesn’t answer. Not verbally, anyway. He just does it, reaching out with psionics to flip the switch. Like what you did was a demand and not a request. You really like it when he listens to you. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, mouth hovering close to your ear. “I still know you’re naked.”

“I still _feel_ naked,” you complain. It’s weird, having your clothes off in front of someone you care about so much. Bodies are so much more honest without any kind of drapery.

“What if I do this?” Sollux offers. Now, instead of both of you laying on your sides, he pushes back your shoulder so you’re on your back. He climbs over you, settles a skinny leg between your meaty thighs, lets his chest drop, and kisses you again.

You’re wearing him. He’s like armor for you, covering up your nakedness with his own so you don’t feel so exposed. When he licks the inside of your mouth, you melt.


	3. First Time

Sollux says it the first time like he’s been saying it for years. Not _I pity you_ , not _I heart you_. “I love you,” like a foregone conclusion, an unstated assumption.

Your heart soars. “I know,” you tell him, pushing the words back into his mouth with the point of your tongue as your hands guide him home.


	4. Masturbation

“I’m serious, just show me how you do it and then I can do it too.”

Mostly you want him to show you how he does it because you’re still not quite sure what to do with his undercarriage. You were kinda prepared for hermaphroditic trolls in a theoretical sense, but not in the practical sense, and definitely not in the trolls-are-usually-dimorphic sense. You want to touch him, and badly, but you’re scared of fucking up for so many different reasons.

He’s not moving, still cupping his hand (slim, obnoxiously long fingers) over his crotch. You couldn’t see anything if you wanted to—his plating, that armor his species evolved to get over groin kicks better than humans ever could, still covers his sensitive bits. He’s a little turned on, yeah, but only really to the extent you are. Your dick is certainly interested, but only in a general way, not that hard yet but probably getting there soon. You can see hints of gold behind the plating that curves up to point to his stomach, and there’s a smear of honey between his legs.

“Here,” you offer. “I’ll show you how I do it and—and you can—if you want, or help, or—“ Words. Not exactly working. You take a deep breath, lick your palm, and start rolling down your foreskin.

Sollux inhales sharply. You’re the rush of air into his atmosphere aspirators. It comes out in a garbled _hrng_ when you close your hand around yourself and start stroking. Between Sollux’s fingertips, you can see the beetle-wings between his legs start to open, leaking genetic material from his seedflaps already. The tip of his bulge comes out to play and wraps itself around his wrist. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “I thought Karkat was kidding.”

 “’Bout what?” It’s hard to focus when you’re trying to focus.

“I can smell your pheromones,” he whines, and twirls his fingers around his bulge.

The more he touches himself, the more you’re looking forward to touching him. He’s so fluid in his motions, and you’re even more dexterous than he is. He tugs at his bulge and it slips through his fingers. He closes his fist around the base and pulls off, over and over and over, lets it curl around the side of his hand while he twines his fingers through it like he’s trying to hold hands with a tentacle, and you already know you want to wiggle your fingers while he does that to you.

You don’t even realize you’re cranking it like you mean it until Sollux lets out a breathy _oh_ when you cup your balls. Being watched while you do this isn’t as creepy or off-putting as you thought it was going to be. Maybe if it were a stranger, but this is Sollux. And you trust him. His eyes hold you steady when you feel like you might float away.

Mostly he’s been playing with his bulge, but his other hand is getting into the action now, two fingertips resting impatiently at the entrance to his—to his alien-boy-vagina, for lack of a better term. “Don’t hurt yourself!” you blurt out. Just the thought of those claws anywhere sensitive has you shivering with fear.

“Like I could hurt myself,” he says, and plunges both fingers in as far as they’ll go.

It takes you a minute before you realize that moaning sound is coming from you. Watching him wank is like poetry. Yours is just jerky stops and starts, up-down up-down, but with him it’s a lot of twirling, sort of. Twisting, turning. Curling. Arcs instead of lines. Acting on a hunch, you reach forward to where his bulge is wrapped around his hand—just as slippery as you thought it would be. “Sorry—I just—“ because this is what happens when you forget the lube.

“You’re not going to—ahh,” of course you’re going to, if he’s going to show off and preen for you then you’re going to show him how resilient you really are. It’s slower going for you and your hands are so much larger, but you know how you work, and gradually you wear down your own resistance until you have a finger in. “Fuck, that’s—“

You find what you’re looking for and yelp, a quiver going down your legs to end in your curling toes. “’M gonna,” you tell him through a dry mouth, “you close?”

“Yeth,” and the lisp lets you know he couldn’t possibly be lying to you. “Oh—“ gets cut off as the hand at his seedflaps gets drenched in a torrent of honey.

“Sollux,” you whisper in amazement, and promptly blow your own load over your fist. When it spatters onto your treasure trail, he somehow manages to come _again_ , this time a gush from the tip of his bulge that pools at his stomach and trickles down his sides.

You’re both breathing hard. “Holy shit,” Sollux says for you, and smiles. Which means you have to kiss his ridiculously handsome happy face before you shatter into a million pieces from the exhilaration at having put that grin there.


	5. Blowjob

EB: dave.  
EB: are you busy?  
TG: yeah  
EB: ok good, because i have a question for you.  
TG: did you miss the part where i said im busy  
EB: no, i am just ignoring it.  
TG: what do you want egbert  
EB: so say i have been making out with my alien boyfriend.  
EB: and things might have gotten to the point where i am probably going to give him a beej.  
EB: how would i theoretically do that?  
TG: are you messaging me from your glasses  
EB: yeah, why?  
TG: pay afuckingttention to your hookup christ on a crack binge  
EB: i am though!  
EB: that is why i messaged you.  
EB: to make sure i am paying attention to him the right way.  
TG: ok fine ill bite  
EB: i didn’t think you were supposed to bite…  
TG: figure of speech egbert keep the fuck up  
TG: i really shouldnt ask questions i dont really want the answers to  
TG: but what the fuck have you two been up to  
EB: he is sitting up against my headboard.  
EB: i am licking his useless extra leg things.  
TG: a very special egbert episode of things i never needed to know  
EB: come on.  
EB: help me.  
TG: ok fine  
TG: heres the thing  
TG: troll weewees are basically the same as our trouser titans  
EB: that does not sound right at all.  
EB: aren’t they aliens?  
TG: if you bought into the premise that theyre fucking aliens you just have to go along with it  
EB: that doesn’t help!  
TG: oh my gemstone studded jesus  
TG: dont tell me  
EB: i have never sucked off a human before either.  
TG: things i never needed to know has now been adapted into a two hour lifetime movie  
TG: are you seriously asking me for a blow by blow of how to blow  
EB: um.  
EB: … yes?  
TG: i hate both of you and myself  
EB: just give me some guidance?  
EB: please.  
TG: is he out yet  
EB: yeah, just sort of wriggling around.  
TG: time to be a snake charmer  
TG: get out that clarinet and go to town boy  
TG: or just grab him by the base and make sure he doesnt squirm too much that works too  
EB: it is really slippery though!  
TG: its an environmental hazard  
TG: but youre the one with the piano hands  
TG: wrestle it into submission and dont let go  
EB: so how do i start?  
EB: do i just kiss it somewhere or on the tip or do i lick it or just put it in my mouth or???  
TG: in through your nose out through your mouth  
TG: now is not the time to be freaking out so hard you forget to breathe  
TG: that comes later when he shimmies his schlong down your swallower  
EB: !!!!!!!!  
TG: maybe he wont actually try to suffocate you  
TG: doubt he could  
TG: breathing is kinda your thing after all  
TG: what are you doing now  
EB: i kind of just stuck my tongue out to taste.  
TG: and  
EB: it is weird.  
EB: kind of like really watered down honey except mixed with lemons sort of.  
TG: things i never needed to know just got a season long deal with hbo  
EB: you asked!  
EB: ok, i am going to try putting it in my mouth.  
TG: go slow  
TG: not just for him  
TG: take your time with it  
TG: no sense putting yourself off gobbling knobs for life just because your first spitshine didnt go so hot  
EB: to be honest, it just feels like i am french kissing his crotch.  
TG: youre probably doing it right then  
TG: theyre excitable and he doesnt have that much control over it  
TG: egbert  
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] is an idle chum! --  
TG: still doing ok over there?  
TG: oh yes mister strider he replies  
TG: i have discovered the glory hole that is mouth worshiping a xenocock  
TG: never again will i think of fornicating in another manner  
TG: give me all the tentacle boners and shove them right in my mouth  
TG: herp derp i am the heir of blowies hurr hurr  
EB: you are a jerk sometimes.  
TG: howd it go  
EB: not too bad.  
EB: i think i need to wash my face though.  
EB: OR HE COULD JUST LICK IT OFF ME THAT IS TOTALLY COOL TOO  
EB: OH SHIT DAVE I THINK HE MIGHT RETURN THE FSDLFKAS;FDJASDF  
EB: sdslkdf;jsdfj;skdj  
TG: and to all a good night


	6. Clothed Getting Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2x2 canon.

Your hands are shaking. It’s not just because of all the Mountain Dew you had at dinner, either. You’re trying to drive Sollux to the quarry so the two of you can maybe French kiss in your car before he shows you that sweet stargazing app he was telling you about over sweet and sour chicken.

It wouldn’t be so damn difficult to drive if Sollux weren’t also creeping his hand, hot and pressurized, millimeter by millimeter up the inside of your thigh.

You make the engine a little angry when you put your Jeep in park, but you’re antsy as hell. “Back seat?” you ask him breathlessly.

Sollux does this thing, this quirky thing that you’re learning to love about him, where he answers questions but non-verbally. In this case, he just rockets out of the passenger seat and into the flat expanse of the back of your car. You took out the back seat hoping you’d use the flat back-trunk as a blanket nest while Sollux pointed out meteors or galaxies, but now it’s looking more like hot makeouts with frustratingly attractive trolls.

You barely remember to take the keys out of the engine before you leap into the back yourself. He’s on you immediately like honey on a hot biscuit. You can feel his body heat radiating even through two sets of clothes when he presses up insistently against you. “Fuck,” he whispers into your mouth, “I thought you’d never ask.”

After some rolling around (and some weight shifting on the axels, uneasy-balance with that lurch that feels like falling), he’s got your shoulders pressed against the back of the driver’s seat, sitting in your lap and holding onto your face like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth. There’s a definite lump in the front of his skinny jeans, and he has to be able to feel how hard you are through your shorts. “Not my fault you were fucking the spoon with your tongue.”

“It was delicious,” he defends himself, and lets you chase the flavor of the dessert you ordered for him out of the inside of his mouth.

Your hands are large enough to nearly encircle his waist. He clutches your shoulders and shuffles closer, the bulge in his pants nudging up against your own, and keeps kissing you like he wants to breathe you in, like you’re approaching the inevitable and he wants to take you down with him. From somewhere that might as well be a different planet entirely, both of your phones are blowing up with texts.

You rock. He rolls. The windows are starting to fog up. Sollux starts panting, hard, when you run your tongue down the column of his throat, rutting up against you like he could phase through your body and nestle himself next to your bones if he tried hard enough. “God,” you choke out, encouraging his movements with your hands at his hips. Three frantic humps later and you’re done for, kissing him sloppy and wet through it all.

He doesn’t seem to mind, shivering when you shudder—did he just? Hard to tell, it’s dark, but if that trolls-jizz-a-bucketload thing is true, then probably not. It doesn’t feel like Sollux just peed himself or anything. Hell, thanks to whoever invented the fabric of cargo shorts, you can barely tell where you creamed your briefs.

Your mouths connect. Part, connect again. Like magnets. Lazier. Less frantic. His hands stop trying to rip your shirt off your shoulders and he pets it down onto your chest instead, careful not to snag his claws. You circle your arms behind his back to hug him close. Once the fog retreats from the glass, Sollux rests his forehead against yours. “Hey,” you whisper, smiling.

“Hey,” he says back. He kisses you again, pressure lingering, before he draws back, out of your personal space for the first time in maybe a half-hour. “Did you want to see that app?”

You reach for your phone. So many missed texts. You fire off a few to Dave to keep him from completely blowing a gasket, close your messages from Karkat, and throw it back in the vague direction of that’s-not-important-right-now. “Is it clear enough out?” Washington isn’t exactly known for pristine skies.

“Doesn’t matter. Once it triangulates the position, it’ll show you what it’s supposed to look like,” he explains as he pulls his tablet out of your sylladex.

Meanwhile, you were pulling down the roof so the two of you could look up into open air. “Wow,” you sigh. It’s crystalline. There are stars out tonight that you didn’t even know existed. This is why you came to the quarry—not just for the privacy, but for a place without light pollution, so the two of you could get closer to nature.

You lose track of time while Sollux walks you through constellations and star charts and Alternian astrology, and you only drive back to campus once both of you are yawning more than speaking.


	7. Half Dressed

Sollux bursts into your room, so soaking wet his t-shirt is sticking to him in ways that don’t quite seem physically possible. “John,” he says insistently.

Not Egbert. Not JB. _John_. He’s never called you that before. You have no idea what to expect. “Yeah?” comes out of your mouth pathetic and small.

“You perfect fucking idiot,” he whispers, skin crackling visibly with repressed energy. He lunges at you, grabs your shirt collar in his fists, and pins you against the wall before kissing you like he needs to breathe you in or he’s going to suffocate.

Your clothes are getting wet. A buzz starts gathering at the base of your spine. Once Sollux has thoroughly bruised your lips, you put your palm at his adam’s apple thingy. (There’s a name for it, you just forgot. It happens. Especially when you’re getting a boner.) “What’s this for?”

“You just drenched me,” he enunciates a little too clearly, working at your belt instead.

Oh, that. The old bucket over the door trick. “Isn’t that a great prank?”

“You drenched me with _material_ from a _pail_ ,” he points out, mashing his mouth against yours. He yanks down the zipper on your jeans so hard the tab comes off the teeth.

“Oh, jesus.” Harmless joke for humans. Instant turn-on material for trolls, apparently, because Sollux has your bottoms bunched up in his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“Fuck _thorry_ ,” Sollux says, knees hitting the floor just before your pants and underwear do. That’s why he was trying so hard to speak correctly—his lisp hit him already. Before he even came over here. He pushes your hips back against the wall and licks an insistent stripe into the V of your muscles. “That’th the motht perverted—the kinkietht—do you know how fucking hard it ith to walk with a wriggly, I had to float all the way over here jutht to tell you what a magnifithent bathtard you are.”

“With your mouth on my—?” With his mouth on your. Your head knocks back against the wall and your fingers curl around Sollux’s horns.


	8. Skype Sex

TA: hii you.  
EB: hey.  
EB: hold on, the webcam refuses to work.  
EB: i can still see you though!  
TA: ii can waiit.  
TA: not long though, ii’m feeliing iimpatiient a2 fuck toniight.  
TA: 2iignal receiived, you’re defiiniitely onliine now.  
TA: 2top 2miiliing 2o goddamn much, iit’2 ju2t me.  
EB: that is why i am smiling so much.  
EB: is it ok to say i miss you?  
TA: ii’ve only been gone for 2 day2.  
TA: 2o yeah, ii’d 2ay 2o.  
TA: DV gone?  
EB: yeah.  
EB: is karkat in your hotel room?  
TA: that’2 a negatory.  
EB: good answer.  
EB: do you ever have one of those days where you can’t stop thinking about sex?  
TA: 2ometiime2, diid you have one of tho2e twoday?  
EB: yeah, do you know how hard it is to wait to jerk off until i can skype you?  
TA: ye2, what do you thiink ii felt liike all day.  
EB: tilt your laptop down, i want to see.  
EB: oh, fuck.  
EB: wish i was there.  
TA: wii2h you were here two.  
TA: iit’2 better when iit’2 your hand2.  
EB: my hands are a little busy right now though!  
TA: becau2e you need 2 for your human bulge.  
EB: i don’t want to be using my hands anyway.  
EB: god, i just want to throw you down on my desk and open your legs and eat you out until you spark all over.  
TA: holy fuck you’re 2uch a pervert.  
EB: i know, it is a real problem.  
EB: if you were here in my lap you could just wrap around and squeeze and  
EB: oh shit.  
EB: shit, sollux.  
TA: what if ii wanted two get my mouth on you iin2tead?  
EB: permission granted, holy crap.  
TA: you’re clo2e, baybee.  
EB: no i am not!  
TA: ye2 you are, ii can 2ee you pul2e every tiime you make your2elf 2top.  
EB: ok, i am, but i don’t want to be.  
EB: you?  
TA: riight there wiith you.  
EB: want to see you spill.  
TA: 2econd tiime wiith you?  
EB: i promise.  
TA: two much, you’re two much, ii can’t hold iit, can’t hold iit, FUCK!  
EB: just like that, honey, i’m right there.  
TA: agaiin, agaiin, now, now, do iit JB, need iit, need iit.  
EB: sol…  
EB: crap, now everything is sticky.  
EB: you don’t look much better though! hehe.  
EB: do you always have to, you know.  
EB: twice?  
TA: yeah, iit’2 ju2t a thiing.  
TA: iit hurt2 iif ii don’t have a 2econd.  
EB: do you have any idea how hot that is?  
EB: jeez. you’re insatiable.  
TA: you are 2uch a goober.  
EB: come home soon.


	9. Against the Wall

“I will bet you one hundred dollars, right now, that you can’t pin me.” You’re pretty confident about this bet, too. Not to rag on Sollux, but you’re about twice his size, broad-shouldered, limbs thick with muscle, and he has roughly the build of a telephone pole. A very sexy telephone pole, but a telephone pole nonetheless. The money doesn’t even mean anything—both of you are richer than gods now that all of you made it through SBURB/SGRUB intact. Besides, you’d be thrilled if he can actually rise to your challenge.

Sollux stands and brushes off his jeans. “I could use the pocket money,” he says. “Get up.”

Both of you are tall. Really tall. Over six feet tall. Completely even, inch for inch, except for his horns. Except standing next to you, he looks almost frail. If ‘nerd’ was a body type, he’d be the mold. “Seriously, surprise me, I don’t think you can do it.”

He smirks. Your stomach slips sideways—that’s the look that means you’re in way over your head. Static sparks along your skin and makes the hair of your forearms stand on end. Sollux’s eyes almost look like they’re glowing.

And then he zaps you like lightning, and the sound of your back hitting against the wall is a thunderclap.

Your head is at the ceiling. You’re two feet off the ground. And you’re not floating, either, not like when you buoy yourself up with your own breath. Blue coils of electricity circle your ankles; your wrists are outlined in blue. All the pulling and tugging in the world won’t loosen them. And Sollux is just looking up at you. Smirking, fangs out. “Didn’t say I couldn’t use them,” he points out.

“I have _got_ to learn to close loopholes around you,” you grumble good-naturedly.

“Or not.” Sollux shrugs. “That’s how we started.” Good point. If you’d have remembered to close that elsif, you never would have asked for his help. Kissed him in gratitude. Asked him out for dinner. Humped against him in the back of your car.

“I can’t move.” This is weird for you. Usually with brute strength you can throw off anyone or anything that tries to get in your way. This, though—to be bound, unable even to struggle without hurting yourself… it’s frightening. Yes, it makes your heart race, but you’re scared.

Sollux reaches out to run his hand up your calf. “Do you trust me?” he asks quietly.

“More than anything,” you reassure him.

“Can you stay up there a few more minutes?”

You’re glad he phrased it that way. Not ‘do you like it.’ Not ‘are you ok.’ Not ‘do you want me to set you down.’ “Yeah,” comes out a little strangled, but as long as he’s grounding you with the heat of his touch on your leg, you’ll be fine.

He unpins your wrists from where he had them next to your head, slams them back down next to your hips so your palms are facing him. You shiver when he traces your lifeline with his tongue, runs his teeth along the heel of your hand. “Wanna try something,” he mumbles into your skin.

Something more than his electricity crackles along your skin. “Whatever you want,” you tell him, because you meant it when you said you trust him. And ‘try’ doesn’t mean succeed, it means attempt. If one of you doesn’t like it, you have no problems telling the other ‘no.’ It’s called boundaries and respect.

While Sollux fumbles with your D-ring belt, he kisses the pulse point at your wrist, just where bond meets body; it surges for him as he gets your pants off, and your dick is definitely intrigued at this turn of events. “Do me a favor,” and his breath fogs against your skin hot and humid. “Don’t shut up.” Because usually the two of you talk to each other with your bodies—honest where words obfuscate, clear when words fail to describe, and it’s like he put a gag on it.

You bite your lip when he sucks the head of your dick into his mouth. You can’t help it—the noises you make embarrass you. You don’t want him to hear you breathing. But then he purses his lips around your foreskin, sinks down, swirls his tongue under your crown, and you sigh out everything you were holding in, a gust ruffling his hair and swooping down his back. “Oh, that’s good,” tumbles out in a rush.

His ears actually prick up at the words, and he gets to work a little harder. He’s careful, so careful with his teeth, and the more he closes the tightness of his lips around you the more you admire his disciplined devotion. Even though he can only take the first two inches of you, he works it for all he can, wringing drops of pre out of you with the suction of his mouth just so he can lick them away, humming like a buzz stuck in his throat so it vibrates through your shaft, using his fingertips (but not his fist) to massage (not quite jack off) the rest.

“God you’re a tease,” you tell him, and if possible, he grins. You say that because you’re stretching his mouth kinda wide. He at least lets out a huff through his nose, like he would be laughing about it if his mouth weren’t full. You’re getting dizzy trying to trace the movements of his tongue. All you want to do is thrust forward and _take_ his mouth, but you can’t. And you’d hurt him if you tried. The last thing you want to do is deprive him of breath.

Sollux is, if nothing else, methodical. Slow and steady. He knows what doom feels like and he never approaches it faster than he has to. Still, it’s building up swiftly, mostly because all you want to do is squirm and spread your legs and bury your hands in his hair and you can’t, you’re completely immobile, and somehow he’s holding onto you, holding you up with his mind, even while he’s concentrating so thoroughly on what he’s doing—

“Close,” you let him know, because like hell are you going to be That Guy who doesn’t give his partner a warning before spunking in their mouth. He nods to let you know he heard and the head of your cock brushes up against his hard palate, his soft. It slips a little further but Sollux doesn’t stop it, just holds it as far as he can take it. You’re not sure trolls have a gag reflex, but at any rate it can’t be comfortable to have something both stretching one’s throat and cutting off one’s air supply. You’d still be able to breathe, but you’re you, so that doesn’t mean much.

His hand closes around you, schlicking his honey-spit all down your dick until it shines with him. And this whole time he’s never taken his mouth away. “Gonna—gonna cum if you keep—oh _fuck_ ,” you try to warn him, and he just goes faster—

When you pulse he knows to pull back. You nut in his mouth and it pools in the cup of his tongue. He never stops pumping or sucking you through it all, and he only pulls away once he knows you’re completely drained. With that smirk still on his face, he swallows, throat moving, and it still shocks you every time that he actually likes it, wants to do that. He can taste your sex hormones, he’s told you, not the battery-acid bitterness, but he also knows it’s a human kink and he teases you with it. He even licks his lips to trace down any stray drops at the corners of his mouth, the sly bastard.

You’re boneless satiated in Sollux’s psionic hold. Inch by inch he lowers you until your soles hit the floor. The first thing you do when he gives you your hands back is hug him to you and hold him close. “You’re amazing,” you remind him, kissing what parts of him you can reach—cheek, ear, neck. “Want me to—?”

“Nah,” he dismisses it. He loops a gangly arm around your waist. “Now what did we learn today?”

“Never doubt Solluxander Captor when he is on a mission,” you deadpan, and he rewards you by ruffling your hair.


	10. Doggy Style

You don’t want him to see your face the first time. It’s too personal, too intimate, _too much_. Sollux can already hear your ragged breathing, see the muscles cording in your back, taste your sweat and smell your hormones. He doesn’t need to be able to read your face when he listens to your body so well.

He runs a hand down your spine and the heat in your body rises to the firebrand of his touch. Your abs coil tighter against the duvet bunched under your hips. The slick upper side of his bulge, for lack of a better term, _licks_ against the space behind your balls, past your entrance, ends with a slurp against your tailbone. You’re trembling, but only because you feel _too_ relaxed, if that’s a thing. Like your joints aren’t strung together tight enough, like your muscles only loosely loop around your bones.

The tip of Sollux’s bulge nudges against you and you forget how to breathe.

You’ll never get used to the initial breach. It’s such a weird feeling, being opened up. Letting something in. Just plain weird at first, but you know it gets better. Of course, all your knowing hasn’t prepared you for the raw sensation of his bulge fighting thick and heavy to get into you. The plating on the underside feels larger than life when it passes against you, into you. He feeds himself into you slow, glacially slow, hand clamped around the base to make the damn thing behave.

Sollux doesn’t need to speak to talk to you. He kisses your throat and you gasp, flooding your lungs with so much oxygen at once it makes you a little heady, and another inch curls into you. And then the last, the thickest, but it goes so smooth, and his hips nestle against yours, legs pressed against the insides of your thighs.

For a long moment, he stays perfectly still inside you. It feels a lot different than what you expected. A taper, not a blunt tip on a solid shaft. Slippery—hardly any friction. Textures you can’t feel with your hands, soft ridges like a soft palate, the hard bone juts of his plating. Above all, searing hot, flesh and blood.

He drapes his body across yours. An arm wraps under yours, across your chest to press against your breastbone. The other seeks between cotton and skin to find your stomach; your muscles flutter under his touch. You’re still at half-mast even through the burnstretch. Your shoulders bow, your forehead falling between your elbows, and you clench your hands tighter together like you’re praying.

Sollux answers with a slow ripple that travels from the base to the tip, and you moan out “God” when that presses him further against your prostate. He tries again, finds the exact point on his length he needs to focus on, and your voice cracks on a vowel sound when he bears down just right, just enough.

The heat of his body never leaves yours. There’s no ungainly slap of skin against skin—he doesn’t have to thrust, not when he can move like this, undulating sine waves calculated to drive you insane. To ratchet up the intensity, he curls the tip of his bulge in on itself, seeks with it until he finds what he’s looking for again, and you scream without shame when he rubs into it with a vengeance.

You’re so hard. Your body is overheating. Blindly you reach out for a rung of the headboard for something to hold onto, because the more he does that the closer you get—

That’s one. You clamp down around him as you cum and he just pulses right back. He knows better than to think you’re done. You used to think you were a freak for this, but then Sollux once got you to orgasm four times in a row and you’ve never seen him so proud of himself. Proud of you, really.

While you’re still sensitive he takes it easy. Then, once the aftershocks have pretty well quaked their way through you, he starts up that long, slow thrash again. Except this time he adds a twist. Literally. His bulge screws around on its axis, dragging against the most sensitive parts of you even as he wriggles in wide circles at the base, lashes thick inside you.

You’re drooling incoherent. Sollux is whispering words down at you that you can barely hear, your body’s overcome with listening to the feel of him. Good, he might call you. Perfect, even. He holds you steady even as you think you might shake apart at the seams.

His hand closes around your cock. Gives a long pump that ends with a squeeze and a twist. And you give him everything you have, framed in his bones with his teeth at your throat.


	11. Dom/Sub

One minute you’re leaning over him, brushing his hair away from his face. Electricity crackles between his horns on either side. He’s flushed gold all the way down to his shoulders, head thrown back and baring his throat to you in an unmistakable display of total trust. This is what submission looks like. It couldn’t be more obvious if there were a collar around his neck.

The next minute he’s got you rolled onto your back and he’s riding you like he’s gunning for first place at the John Egbert rodeo.

Not that you’re complaining. Not at all, actually. You love it when he’s this enthusiastic about doing it, when he wants you so badly he has to take what he craves instead of waiting for you to give it to him. It’s just that it kinda gives you mood whiplash. You just want a heads-up, that’s all! Some kind of warning beforehand that he’s about to dominate you so thoroughly it’ll leave your groin aching for days. “What brought this on?” you ask, a little out of breath.

He just shrugs, the bastard. “Thometimeth it jutht happenth.” Trying to reconcile how adorable his sex-lisp is with the long, lean planes of his naked body is nearly impossible for your feeble little brain. Meanwhile he hasn’t stopped bouncing on your dick. You reach out to run your hands over his keratin ridges and he grabs your wrists before you make it there. “No,” he insists, and pins your hands to the bed on either side of your head.

You could fight him, but honestly, it’s more entertaining for you to feel him hold you down. When you try to thrust up into him, though, he moves his legs so he’s practically squatting on your thighs, his ankles over your knees to keep your hips from leaving the mattress. You’d think he wouldn’t be this good at fucking himself on you, with his total lack of muscle tone and the way his species doesn’t need to thrust when they can screw, but when Sollux is hungry, he’s _ravenous._

He grinds you into him until your cock aches with the sweet friction of it. “Want you to thpill like thith,” he mutters, claws prickling at the spurs of your wrists. His sweat drips off his chin and onto your forehead.

“In—inside—?” Because God do you want to, but you’re not a hundred percent sure he wants you to jizz as the situation stands right now.

When he grins, it’s with a mouth full of shark fangs. “Uthe me like a fucking pail, baby.”

“Oh God—“ It’s the perverted curl to his voice, you swear—that and the way he clenches around you, velvet-hot and insistent, taking you as deep as you’ll go and mashing his sopping wet seedflaps into your pubes. He’s holding onto you so hard the bones in your hands are grinding together. Your toes curl and white hits you like a wave, an electric shudder running down your spine and leaving static in your fingers and toes.

He spills on your chest when you pulse in him, bulge twisting in on itself to get the sensation he needs to get off. He adores it when the two of you can climax together. Two in one.

When he pulls off with shaky-faun legs, you’re already crashing hard. He uncurls his fingers from your wrists and leans back heavily on one hand, elbow double-jointed buckling under his weight. Oh, fuck. Oh, he’s _displaying_ for you, something so primal it makes your gut clench on instinct. And he’s—he has two fingers plunged inside, schlicking hard and fast, showing off for you, showing you _everything_ —

Another torrent from him joins the first, the smell of lemonflower honey musk hitting you like a punch to the solar plexus, and your dick tries to outdo itself and spurts again and that’s two, twice, together. By the time Sollux’s body crashes into yours, loose-limbed and well-fucked, you’re already obliterated.


	12. Fingering

Sollux is getting a lot better with his psionic hands. It’s gotten to the point now where it’s like the gauntlets you had in the game—he can touch with them, feel through them, and he’s extended his range to across the room whereas before he had to be touching you to do it.

Today he’s got one out and it’s skimming over the fur at your stomach that leads down to your cash and prizes. He’s straddling one of your naked thighs, a real hand inching its way down your leg while he kisses you, the other one gently carding through your hair like he’s looking for something. Horns, probably. It still weirds him out a little that you don’t have any, not even Karkat-style nubs.

You try to chase his mouth down when he pulls back, but he just tugs at your hair gently and your head falls back to the futon. “I want to try something,” he says, “but you can’t distract me while I do it.”

“That’s half the fun of it.” Three seconds later and he hasn’t snarked back to your jibe. Maybe he’s serious about this. “What is it?” you ask instead, thumbs rubbing circles into the hollows at his hipbones.

“I want—I want to.” Sollux closes his eyes, licks his lips, opens them again and still can’t quite look you square in the face. “Like you do with me, but I’d tear you to shreds.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “I don’t get it.”

“I can’t _touch_ you like I want to with these claws,” comes out of his mouth in a rush. “I can’t just hold onto your shoulders, I can’t just run them down your torso column—I can barely hold hands with you, and I just want to—I want to get my hands all over your stupid soft human body and wreck you with them and not have to worry about _killing_ you when I do it.”

“Sheesh,” you whistle out. “How long have you been holding on to this?”

This time he actually does look you dead straight in the eyes. You’ll never get over the beauty of his heterochromia. “Too long,” he grits out. The hand he’s tucked behind your knee is shaking. “I want,” he keeps saying, “I want to ease into you, not just slick my bulge and pray—I want to feel you falling apart around my fingers—and I can’t do it, I can’t, I’d have to do that obnoxious declawing operation like fucking CN did and _fuck you_ , baby, but I’d actually _do it_ if it meant I could just take you apart like I want to.”

The raw honesty of it washes over you. You still can’t quite believe what you’re hearing. “I,” stutters out of your mouth before you think of the rest of the sentence. “But. This,” and you thread your fingers through the ghostly hand on your abs.

“Exactly,” and the thing Sollux is doing with his eyebrows is probably outlawed in several European nations. “But I need you to—I don’t want to hurt you with _this_ , either, and I need to _focus_ and it’s already hard when you smell _so fuckable_ so just—don’t, okay, I want to try this and if it doesn’t work—“

You reach up to touch his face. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.” He drops his head to touch his forehead to yours. “I want to _ruin_ you.”

“I want you to.” You kiss him—slow, deep. Chaste, reassuring. By the time you’re done with him his lips are trembling. “Before you try, though.” It’s reached the point where you just have lube in your sylladex. This should probably bother you more than it does, but hey, if normal guys keep condoms in their wallets, you can keep lube on your person at all times. Safe sex is best sex.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Right.” He nearly rips the cap off when he goes to pour it over his virtual hand. “This stuff is weird.”

“We still haven’t figured out how to captchalogue what happens when girls get wet.” Why hasn’t your species evolved to have self-lubricating parts? Stupid dumb creators. Thanks for nothing, Karkat.

Sollux settles firmly between your thighs, holding them apart with his hands. Two hands you can deal with. The third, the one that rolls your balls in a lubed palm before passing further back, is just one too many. Three is Sollux’s least favorite number—there it is. A fourth. Pushing your hair back from your forehead, thumb passing along your cheekbone. “Tell me how this feels,” he says.

He starts rubbing against your hole, hot wet friction on a place that hardly sees the sun, and it’s so filthy you’re already writhing. God, it’s been ages since anyone but you has had their fingers anywhere near—he massages in a slow circle. “You’re a good learner,” you sigh out. This is the way you tease him. The way you touch yourself.

“Now?” You nod. “Now.” You nod again. A false finger starts pressing a little harder, not demanding, just convincing, and it isn’t long before you give for him. Your back arcs like someone’s stringing you a strongbow. “Shh,” Sollux tells your body. “You’re distracting.”

“I can’t help it,” you do not _whine_ , you’re just a little reedy on the exhale.

With those hot hands still holding your legs open, he swoops in to kiss you. The one phantom hand cradles your jaw. The other is sinking into you slow and sure. It’s so different from a cock, from a bulge—blunt at the tip, yeah, like a human, with a hint of hard at the nail like plating to protect it, but it’s the callouses at the fingerprints, the articulation in the knuckles, that really gets to you.

Your hole twitches when he gets down to the second knuckle, twinges again when he’s seated full. “You don’t—you can,” stumbles out of your mouth—he doesn’t have to wait, he can move now if he wants.

Move he does. It’s an experimental wiggle more than anything else. He twists his wrists, passes his fingertip over everything he can touch, and sighs against your mouth like it’s him that’s getting fingerfucked. “You’re so _soft_ ,” he groans, his lips a hot smear against the stubble at your jaw.

He pulls out a little with his fingertip still caressing, feeling out, and he—brushes over it, not enough, but the hint of it already has your hair standing on end, a moan stuck in your throat. Sollux kisses it out and it turns into a drawn out “yeah…”

“Is that it?” He tries again and the sound turns completely wordless. “That feels—wow, JB, holy shit,” and this time he actually purposefully rubs against it, a little crook and a come-hither that sets your bones on fire. “Wish I could see—this is good, this is—I want to, another, can you—“

“Yes,” you can take anything he wants to give you because he is unhurried and cautious, and you know the second your mouth even thinks about twinging into a frown he’ll cut it out.

He jabs at it, hard, electrocuting your spine, before he nearly pulls out—to add another finger, yes, two, and your body shakes with the effort of holding back your tells because apparently you’re _distracting_ when you’re so turned on you might actually die. “You feel amazing,” Sollux whispers straight into your ear, and the praise goes straight to your dick.

Everything is smooth. Calculated. He’s just as dexterous as you—different keys, different keyboards, same motions, same inspiration, same wild creativity. When he’s not sliding his fingers in and out, forcing you to focus on how your entrance feels stretched around his knuckles, he’s massaging, scissoring, feeling you out like he wants to memorize you. He pulls up like he wants to lift your hips from the inside, pressing hard against the front, and your eyes roll back in your head. “Sol, I,” has your dick always been this hard? “Good,” comes out somewhere in this aroused word salad, “good, I’m gonna, oh god,” because anything up against your prostate like that makes you find Jesus a little bit, he wouldn’t even need to touch you and you’d blow.

You’ve lost track of what’s real or not real. The fingers in you are too electrifying to be flesh and blood, but the other three—one’s plucking at a nipple, one’s cradling your face and slipping a thumb into your mouth to caress your tongue, and one, thank Christ, is curled around your cock, pulling in a delirious counterpoint that leaves you feeling like someone twirled your brain around on its axis and tried to fit it into your skull again. “Spill,” he says—requests, not demands.

Nirvana is two inches up your ass and the second star to the right. His palm grinds into your perineum, pressure from outside as well as in, sending a pulse hot and heady through your dick. One, two strokes and you shoot over his hand—gray painted white, errant chalk strokes on a blackboard. His mouth is liquid gold and you are so thirsty, drinking him in for all he’s worth.

He pulls out just as slow as he eased in, careful with you even now that he made you climax. His devotion sparks something in your chest right next to trust and adoration. “Thank you,” he says, kissing you fervently. “Thank you, I wanted to—for so long, and it was everything—let me do that again sometime—“

“Shit, I’ll let you do it as much as you want if you’re going to be that good at it.” Your hands are balled up, one in the sheets, the other in Sollux’s shirt. It takes conscious effort to make your fingers uncurl. “Except next time, can we—one thing. Just one thing.”

“Anything,” he says, eyes bright.

“Can I maybe be blindfolded?” The more he looks down at you, the harder you flush. “Just so I can’t tell which ones are real.”

Sollux licks his lips in contemplation—then smiles. God, sex-smile Sollux is your favorite smile Sollux. “When’s the next time?”

“Anytime you want, honey. Except not now, I think you wrung me dry.”

“Stupid human body,” he complains, cuddling close to you even though there’s cum drying sticky on your stomach. “Maybe I can still get you to spill. Without anything behind it.”

You make a delicate wheezing noise in the back of your throat. Even though you couldn’t get it up right now to save your life, your dick twitches in agreement. God bless the united states of Sollux Captor.


	13. Rimming

The second Sollux is out of the shower, you kiss him hard, tear away his towel, and bend him over his desk chair.

Fifteen minutes later you’re licking up all the genetic fluid trickling from his seedflaps, eating him out like it’s your job. You have needs. Sometimes, one of those needs is teasing your boyrailsprit with your tongue until his legs shake. And grabbing his ass and smoothing your hand up and down his thigh. And trapping his bulge against his front until it squirms back and forth between his body and your fingers, trying to get friction.

You’d like to think you’re pretty good at this. You enjoy it, and maybe that’s enough. Sollux certainly seems to like what you’re doing, gripping onto the cushion of his chair so hard his knuckles are going white, meaningless little whirring sounds coming out of his mouth. “Oh—ah, fuck,” and at one particularly enthusiastic slurp a series of red and blue sparks showers down his arms.

He’s close. His soft parts are throbbing against your tongue. You spear it in—nowhere near as long or precise as his, but still good enough—and he howls, a jet of honey pouring directly into your mouth.

That’s the first one. He needs the second one fast or it’s going to hurt. His bulge thrashes against the strength of your hold, leaving stickiness all over your hand. Shit, you wish you had three or four—you want to hold his legs open, trap his bulge, massage against his side so he’s not so overwhelmed, but you settle on grabbing a handful of Captor ass and sticking your Sollux-slick hand down the front of your pants.

You pass your tongue slow and hot over his backdoor and his legs give out entirely. His claws rip eight perfect lines into the padding in his desk chair. “Fuck,” he whispers in disbelief, his voice trembling harder even than his bones. “Fuck, baby, that’s—oh, shit, oh, that’s _dirty_ …” The end of his sentence trails into a moan.

He’s shaking so hard he’s practically on vibrate mode—buzzing enough to be a vibrator, too. When you purse your mouth, kiss and lick and suck, he screams. His bulge searches wildly for something to rub up against, curling in on itself and finally settling for creeping back between his legs to press up into the place you left him empty.

Oh. Oh, God, that’s hot. He’s literally fucking himself because he needs you so bad. You reward him with your tongue, passing the point into him until his resilience snaps, and everything between his legs _cramps_ as he comes, bulge slipping out of him from the clench as he pours a second load of slurry straight onto the floor. Your jizz joins his not two seconds later. Thank God for linoleum.

It takes a few minutes of you massaging his thighs and rubbing his back until he has the presence of mind to let go of his chair. You turn him around, let him slump against you instead, holding the slight weight of him against your solid frame. Every gentle kiss against his windpipe helps him breathe a little easier until he’s calm and collected in your arms. “You ok?” you ask him quietly.

“Better than ok.” He’s leaning against you so heavily that he’s not even really holding himself up, just relying on your arms around him. “Fuck, what _was_ that?”

You lay him down on the bed, stretch out over him. He clings to you and you pet his hair. Now that you’re not in the moment any more, what you did seems kind of gross. “It’s just skin,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“Felt like you were trying to stick a bulge in me and suck me sloppy at the same time. Fucking incredible.” He doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, tilting his head up so he can kiss your face.

You push him away. “Don’t—let me at least brush my teeth first.” You just had your mouth on his—

Yeah, he really doesn’t care. He kisses you anyway, tongue curling around yours, and melts against you. “You should shower next,” he mumbles against your shoulder. Oh. _Oh._ “Wanna try that.”

You cannot get naked fast enough.


	14. 69

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Shit!” Sollux twitches, typos coming out in his code. “Don’t freak me out like that, JB.”

“Like what?” You didn’t mean to startle him. Then again, you’re kind of hanging upside-down in front of him, head between his eyes and the computer screen.

Sollux groans, massaging his temples. “I’m busy.”

“Too busy to hang out with me?” You might be pouting. You’re definitely petulant. Sollux promised you this would be movie night.

He leans forward to peck you on the lips. His sharp chin bumps against your nose. “Fifteen minutes,” he promises you, breath sweet against your lips.

“I’m holding you to that.” Your hands dawdle down to the front of his shirt. God, he’s such an adorable nerd, he actually wears white short-sleeve button-downs with black ties and pocket protectors. You nuzzle under his jaw while you pull off his tie, start in on his buttons. “Do you mind if I just keep myself entertained?”

“Go for it.” He tries to say it in a monotone, but there’s a hint of breath to it. The clacking of his claws on the computer keyboard stutters for a little bit.

You lick a stripe on the bared skin of his chest. Slow. Light enough that you know he won’t feel guilty for pushing you away. He kind of does the exact opposite—his breath hitches, the keratin ridges on his sides vibrating with the effort of holding in his reactions. “Shh,” you whisper against the hollow of his stomach, hands soothing the cage around his pump biscuit before they cradle around his hips.

“JB,” Sollux says. You stick your thumbs inside the waistband of his skinny jeans. “I can’t see my screen.”

That doesn’t mean anything. His fingers have pretty well memorized every keyboard system he’s come across—Alternian, QWERTY, DVORAK. “You don’t need to,” you remind him.

“Your crotch is in my face,” he says instead.

You grin against the fly of his jeans. “So it is.”

“Your bulge is in my face.” With one hand still typing up a storm, he reaches up and cups the front of your pants with the other.

That’s more like it. When you unzip him, he’s already swelling behind his plating—not yet springing out but close. You lick and it curls out to say hi to your face. This is why you keep microfiber cleaning cloths on your person at all times. You can’t really see with honey smeared all over your glasses, but you can still feel out with your mouth, and your lips run along the slick heat of his bulge.

His legs fall open. This kind of makes your job a little harder, seeing as now you can’t even get his pants off, but then he’s shoving your shorts and briefs up over your hips and curling his prehensile tongue strong around the tip of your dick.

So, uh. This is actually happening. You were just planning on teasing him with your mouth for fifteen minutes while he finished up his project, but now his bulge is slithering past your tongue even as he gets his mouth around you and sinks down as far as he can go.

He nods. The head of your dick brushes up against his soft palate. You huff out a moan around his bulge and make out with the crotch-tongue a little harder. The hood of your sweatshirt falls up over your head and hides the worst of your flush. It’s hard to remember how to hold yourself up with breath when he’s swirling and sinking and sucking—

You crash against the desk, your dick falling out of Sollux’s mouth and your lower back hitting hard against his keyboard. Your legs knock over his monitor. It’s only his psionics that keeps his desktop from shattering on the floor. The whole time his wriggly hasn’t stopped stroking your tongue. Sollux is laughing so hard he’s wheezing, breathless ‘eheheheh’ noises that leave you feeling buoyant even though you’re not floating any more. “Shit, JB, you’re an IT hazard.”

“Fatal system crash, problem exists between chair and keyboard,” you groan against his groin. That really hurt. Sollux just stands, still chuckling, and leans over his desk, taking the sharp edges of his keyboard away from your skin and sweeping his monitor away entirely. “What are you—oh—“

He sucks you off while he sits on your face. Somehow, after that, you’re not so gung-ho about Netflix any more.


	15. Sweet and Passionate

Under you, Sollux is bathed in warm afternoon light. His skin is awash with gold. When you kiss his throat, his pulse rises to meet your lips. The sides of his claws strum against your ribs and you sing for him. You want to hold him, press yourself against him, into him, through him, and he thinks the same, twining his legs around yours, pressing his tongue against every part of your skin he can reach.

He wanted to do it slow today. You can do slow. You can do whatever he wants. But even as you draw out, press back in, his breaths come faster, his blood pusher working overtime. When his hair is damp, it curls in every direction. So does yours.

Without your glasses, everything blurs. A heat haze lingers between your bodies. Your sighs fog humid against his shoulder. Another languid movement of your hips, slow-drag slow-draw, push-me pull-you, and Sollux chokes on a chirr. You close your eyes, listening to his body—the clench of him around you, the curl of his toes against your calves, the tension in his thighs, the slick of his bulge against the grooves between your muscles, the not-friction of his sex-sweat as you press your chest to his.

His orgasm dawns over him like a sunrise, slow and gradual, illuminating every part of him in turns. Nature is beautiful. You kiss him when he mewls for you. When it passes, he pants in frustration—so close to his second, bones alight with need, wordlessly begging for you with his fingers circling around your wrist.

Your fingertips sink into the wet divot between his legs. He’s so wanting; you slip in easily. A second finger, seeking, twisting, finding, nudging, and you use your hips to drive these motions, too, filling him both ways. The noise stuck in his throat is an interrobang, question and vehement answer all at once. He feels so good around you. You make sure to tell him.

When you say his name, his limbs seize up, bony heels as spurs at your rear, lanky arms looped around your neck, bulge wrapping around your wrist. You hold him as his doom crashes around him, sunset into a calm, moonless night.

He’s wrung out to dry. You pull out slow, fingers first, then cock. You’re so hard it aches and he’s so beautiful like this that it makes your chest hurt. You barely need to touch yourself before you climax, heart beating fast, breathing in the sex-smell of him.

The two of you are tangled together like a pair of headphones. You don’t know your left from your right. Sollux looks dazed. You push his hair back from his forehead and kiss him there, on each temple. Eyelids, each cheek. Nose, then soft, hesitant, on his mouth. He sighs against you and his breath in your lungs feels like coming home.


	16. In Public Place

You’re fifteen minutes into a midnight showing of The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug. IMAX. 3D. 48 FPS. You bought tickets for this three months ago. The Drafthouse is too popular to just buy them at the door. It’s a date, too—you brought Sollux, you figured he’d love a movie about fantastical doom and stuff. Karkat insisted on tagging along, because he really likes hobbits, and he dragged Dave with him just to get him to shut up during a movie for once.

Sollux is giving you a handjob under the XL bucket of popcorn in yo ur lap and you are _ready to kill him_.

It feels good but it’s _distracting_. And you’re in public. That’s—that’s a little ew. Like, fine, outdoors, get with nature, but in a crowded movie theatre? It’s dark, sure, but there are so many people around, what if they see, what if they can tell? You suck in a breath at the wrong time and the woman in front of you turns around to glare at you. This isn’t a tense scene. There’s no call for that.

You’re trying to resist with all your nature but Sollux has gotten really good at this. Three minutes later, you’re trying to concentrate on Gandalf being awesome, as per usual, and Sollux twists his wrist in that way. That way that makes you close your eyes and bite your lip and sink back into your theatre seat.

You can’t say anything. The guy next to you will know. You can’t even open your thighs further so this can be over faster. You just have to sit there and _take it_. Which has a certain appeal, yes. Oh, god, it feels amazing. But could he maybe _not_ do this during a movie you actually _want_ to see? Yeah, you’d probably do him in a movie theatre, but in the back of the crappy dollar theatre, where it’s just the two of you and sticky floors and _Mighty Ducks 2_ , which even you can agree is a crappy movie.

Sollux squeezes. You shudder. The Dolby surround sound sinks into your bones and makes you thrum. The top of your skull might actually blow off if he doesn’t seal the deal soon. But the second you go to reach down, Sollux goes into overdrive. Not once has he taken his eyes off the movie. It just looks like he’s rummaging around in the popcorn bucket for a forgotten kernel.

You spurt over his fingers and sigh as quietly as you can, head dropping to your chest for just a few seconds. Just long enough. Fuck. You look over at Sollux. He refuses to turn his head, but you can see his smirk, clear as day. Your phone vibrates. Will the indignities never cease?

TG: yeah buddy

Sollux reaches into his own pocket to pull out his palmtop. Once he reads his message, he lets you see it.

CG: CAN YOU NOT?

Oh, god, they knew. Somehow that turns you on. What you just got away with. How risky it was.

You look over and Dave’s hand is in Karkat’s pants.

Fuck your hot life.


	17. On the Floor

It’s pitch-dark in Sollux’s room. The only light is the psionics that occasionally crackle along your arms, the ones that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Sollux’s hands are on your thighs, feeling out the structure of your musculature, and you’re sat in his lap, wondering how you aren’t crushing him. You’d say you were riding him, but that’s not really how troll sex works—you’re just sitting up this time while his bulge undulates in you, working you in ways humans haven’t even invented words for yet.

He drags your face down so he can lick along your stubble and pushes his hips up off the bed as far as he can. “Want more,” he pants out into your ear, and it pings straight into your dick. When he pushes at your shoulder, grabs at your knee, you immediately know where he’s going with this. On your back, folded in on yourself. You’re not flexible enough to put your knees on your own shoulders, let alone his, but he’ll push them back as far as they’ll go, form his bulge into a stiff, unyielding line, and screw you. Literally, pummel into you at the same time as his bulge twists back and forth. It is phenomenal and you think you might crest just from thinking about it.

When he starts to roll you, you fall off the bed.

You hit the floor hard. Impact jars your bones. The problem about trolls being self-lubing is that he slips out at the slightest provocation, and you clench around nothing. Your shoulders already ache—it’s not even carpet, it’s linoleum, plastic and sticky and basically just a millimeter away from concrete.

And then you start laughing.

“Shut up!” Sollux yells at you, but now that you’ve started, you can’t stop. You fell out of bed. You fell out of the fucking bed. You’re wheezing, your stomach hurts from how hard you’re guffawing at this sex gaffe, and your eyes are crinkled shut, nearly crying from how funny it is.

Sollux still gets his hands under your knees and his bulge back inside. You cum, breathless with mirth and grinning so hard it hurts your face. By the time your second orgasm rolls around, he’s smiling right there with you.


	18. Morning Lazy Sex

You’ve been awake for maybe fifteen minutes, but you don’t want to leave your bed. You can hear rain against the window. It’s probably cold out, too. And there’s a very warm troll behind you, arm draped around your waist, little snores huffed out against your neck. Not awake yet. That’s fine. You’ll check your phone—ebubbles, email. Maybe one of your professors cancelled class today. That would be great.

Sollux pulls you closer. His breathing hasn’t changed. He just wants to cuddle, and something melts in your chest. You don’t get to be the little spoon that often, and he’s the only person you cuddle with who’s actually around your altitude. His body holds you steady. You could stay like this all day. Drifting between wake and sleep. Sometimes slipping so deep as dream, but never so deep as nightmare.

The best thing about trolls is they don’t get morning wood. Sollux’s hipbones nestle against your butt and there’s nothing nudging between your cheeks, it’s great. It’s not your fault that your biology wants you to get excited about facing the day, but it’s a little embarrassing, just sort of a ‘hi!’ that you don’t mean to say. Troll anatomy is smarter than that.

Their genitals, at least. Sollux’s hand seems to have a mind of its own. It skims flat against your stomach, tracing your trail of hair down. When the backs of his fingers find your half-hearted hard-on, it jumps at the touch, and Sollux huffs against your shoulder. “Evening,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

Awake, but still discombobulated enough that he’s using Alternian terminology for wake time. “Morning,” you correct him softly. You move to roll over and he lays his hand on your hip, kissing your hairline and keeping you where you are. “Wanna kiss you,” you grumble.

“Sleep breath,” he grunts. Yeah, probably not that smart. Besides, you like his mouth right where it is. A prickle of fangs has your hair standing on end. His hand wanders like he’s not fully in control of it, finding your balls and kind of prodding at them.

You start to laugh, but then he cups them, and it just comes out as an exhale instead. “That’s my balls.”

The soft skin on the inside of his wrist is against your shaft. “Somebody’s eager.” He lets go, traces up with his palm, and you’re only getting harder the more he touches you. “Does this always happen?”

“Most days.” You really hope he doesn’t ask you for an explanation. You’re too sleepy to make sense and you don’t know why your body does half the things it does. He loops his fingers loose around you and you grunt. This feels kind of selfish. “What do you want?”

He moves up, then all the way down. “This.”

“That’s it?”

“Not quite.”

Ah. There it is. His bulge creeps between your thighs. “It’s too early for that,” you tell him.

“Glad you agree with me.” The point of it worms its way to your perineum instead. That’s nice. Slick pressure outside. Frictionless.

He reaches down between your legs, rolls your balls again—you gasp and spread your thighs for him—and runs his fingertips against his own bulge. When his hand gets back on you again, this time the stroke is lubed perfectly. Now he can just use one hand for the whole thing. “Feels amazing,” you mumble into the pillow.

“No, you.” His hand works in time with your breathing, in-up, out-down. Between your legs, the tip of his bulge finds your sac, starts toying with it. He lazily mouths at your shoulderblade. The arch of his foot rubs against the outside of yours.

He’s just barely long enough that the tip of him can reach the base of your dick from here. Basically the  entirety of the space between your legs is getting constant, slick pressure from something hot and pulsing and very much attached to somebody else. “Sure you don’t want me to—ah—to do anything?” you stutter out.

“Sure.” Slow and steady. He lines his inhales up with yours. When he starts twisting his wrist, stealing his own genetic fluid to make sure this is the best handjob of all time, you whine. Your cock throbs. His bulge pulses. “Relax,” he tells you.

You can’t really hear him over the sound of your own heartbeat thick in your ears, but your body listens to him. Tension seeps out of your legs. You reach behind to grasp at one of his thighs, something to hold onto, and he does you one better, wrapping his leg around yours. He does this thing with his fingers, this insanely hot thing, where he’ll keep stroking you with his whole hand but tighten one at a time in a rhythm. One-two-three-four. Then another ripple, one-two-three-four.

His bulge has worked its way up to thrusting between your thighs. The way it’s touching your balls is driving you insane. Sollux’s body is steaming hot against yours; the sheets are sticking to you. “Want you to come,” he whispers in your ear, then licks the rim of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, and every muscle in your body unfurls as he gets you to let go. Your spunk just sort of dribbles over his hand, and he never stops working you through it, squeezing just right. Behind you, Sollux makes an obscene pornographic sound—the scent of your sex hormones just hit his sniffnodes—and the insides of your legs are suddenly, suspiciously coated with a liberal sheen of genetic fluid.

You still don’t want to move. Sollux seems right there with you. He takes his hand away, wipes it off on the sheets, but his bulge still presses itself into your—haha—nooks and crannies for a minute. When he wraps his arm around your front again, he presses his chest so close to you that you swear you can count the outline of his ribs under his skin. He’s shaking, muffling a little noise into the place where your neck meets your spine, and then he just goes limp. “Thorry.”

“No, I’m glad you did, I would have felt bad if you didn’t.” His bulge must have curled into his seedflap once it was done feeling you out—he wouldn’t be this serene if he hadn’t hit a second peak.

Rain patters harder against your window; it’s fogged over with heat and humidity. Thunder rolls outside, echoing from the mountains. Sollux pulls up the duvet around his head. “Don’t wanna leave the sleep slat today.”

“You’re in luck. Professor Borgen’s car got flooded. We don’t have class until this afternoon.”

His smile ghosts across your backbone, then his snore. You wouldn’t mind just laying here. Breathing deep. Memorizing the weight of his body casually draped across yours. You’re in the middle of counting your blessings when you fall back asleep.


	19. 19. Outdoors, woods, parks, gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outdoors, woods, parks, gardens

You’re so glad it’s spring.

The sun is weak, but it’s bright, and it’s actually hot where the light hits the grass. Under the oak tree, though, it’s cool and breezy. Good thing you have a hot as hell troll draped across your lap, clinging to your shoulders like he might float away if he doesn’t and kissing you like he can’t breathe without you.

“Remember,” he mumbles against your mouth, then smears his against yours until you’re dizzy. “Remember when—back half a sweep ago, the start of the dim season, when we—“

“Yeah,” of course you remember, the two of you nearly saw each other’s dingles for the first time in a public place and wouldn’t that have set a tone for your relationship. You’re so glad you waited.

His tongue pushes into your mouth, curls around yours, tugs, and no. No, that’s too much, and you pull back, pressing little kisses into the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the jut of his jawline. What you mean to do is hold the side of his face in your hand, but your thumb gets a little too close to his lips, and instead of pressing your thumbprint into the corner of his mouth it slips in and then Sollux is sucking on your finger like he could deepthroat it.

You make an indecent noise in your throat. “Jesus.” Sollux just looks at you, that glare you know he wishes was eye beams so he could eviscerate you for being stupid, and massages the pad of your thumb with the tip of his tongue. “D’you want—“

Sollux jerks his hips closer to yours. Something writhes in his pants up against your hipbone. That’s a yes. “Fuck,” he breathes around your finger, and he fists your t-shirt in his hands so hard it starts to rip in his claws.

Something shivery starts collecting in your stomach. “What if someone sees?”

“I don’t care.” Pretty much his attitude toward life in general, really.

He has a point. The two of you haven’t seen anyone on this path in two hours. People remain firmly convinced that it’s still winter in Seattle. It just means you have a little privacy here in your corner of nature.

Screw it. You stroke his tongue with your thumb while your other hand worms between your bodies to find the fly of his pants. “Yeth,” he slurs around your finger, and his eyebrows go slack once you finally get the zipper down. You’re so glad you can do this one-handed.

You feel for his pulse just under his jaw with the tip of your tongue and Sollux starts to gently vibrate against you. Buzzing a little. He’s so silly and you love him for it. As soon as you peel away denim, Sollux’s bulge starts saying hi to your little finger. You ignore your urge to baby-talk it, dig your teeth into his skin instead, and he chitters.

You don’t get to take your time with him a lot, and it’s so fun to just play with him, so you dawdle. Turn your hand this way and that, let his bulge crawl across what it likes. Twine it between your fingers while Sollux’s mouth goes slack around your thumb. There’s a gentle sort of pulse going through it—must really be excited already.

“Juh,” he starts out with, then sucks in a breath. His chest vibrates against yours with the effort it takes to hold it in. “JB,” he says next, and his bulge wraps slick around the ball of your hand.

“I gotcha,” you reassure him, and close your grip around him like you mean it. Pull slick straight off, then grasp him again. Sollux whines like you’re trying to pull him inside-out when you do that—that sound that means he can’t even pretend not to be into this. “Yeah,” you tell him gently, “just like that, come on, you can—wanna see you—“

You barely get it out of your mouth before he cramps around your hand and jets from the tip. “Oh, shit,” he lisps, “shit shit shit—oh—“

There’s a spurt of it up to your elbow. Some of it is on your shirt. You don’t care. Not one bit. Not when he’s still grinding in your lap like that. “Shh, relax, I gotcha,” you remind him, and seek further between his legs to find the place where he’s dripping desperate.

You try one finger and he makes a “muh” sound around your finger, so sloppy he’s drooling. Two this time, drag like you want to pull him even closer to you, and he makes a reedy, honest sound from somewhere behind his vestigial legs that kicks you right in the feelings. “There,” he tells you, your thumb slipping out of his mouth, “there there there oh fuck oh fuck—“

“Sollux,” you say, wondrous, reaching for his hair and grasping not just that but his horns as well.

He sparks against you and clamps down around you, drenching you a second time, and your chest feels too small for your heart as you lay a kiss at the corner of his slack, swollen mouth.


	20. Your Own Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced orgasm + orgasm delay/denial

You’re in the middle of practicing a keyed-up passage of Rachmaninoff when Sollux trips into the room and practically falls on you. There are Tesla coils curling between his horns on either side, angry crackles in your ear as his chin digs into your shoulder. “JB,” he says, sounding miserable.

“Whoa.” You weren’t expecting him to sound that much like crap. You take your fingers off the keys immediately, stroke his back. He leans further into you on the piano bench and takes a deep whiff of your shirt. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything is too loud,” gets muffled into your neck.

You kiss the tip of his ear—the only part of him you can reach. “Do you want me to stop playing?” You’ll find another way to practice later. What’s important right now is that Sollux isn’t bothered into a headache by something you’re doing wrong.

“No,” he mumbles, sparks still zapping between his horns.

Not that kind of loud, then. “Voices?” you ask him, quieter.

He groans and clutches onto you. “Everything is loud and it thuckth.”

His lisp hits you right in the chest. “Shh,” you tell him, and hold him close. “I gotcha.” It’s pale as fuck, but he needs that from you right now, and you just want him to feel better, really.

You hold him close as you carry him upstairs, buoying up his slight weight with breath when it’s too awkward to handle on your own. By the time you reach the first bedroom, you’re sure Sollux thinks the two of you are just going to snuggle it out. That’s the last thing you have in mind right now. Because the key, you’ve realized, is not to make the voices quiet, but to make Sollux inhumanly loud to drown them out.

He tries to curl up into you. You kiss him on the forehead. “I’m going to make it better,” you say, tone on the edge of a promise. You don’t want to say things you don’t mean and you don’t want to let him down or disappoint him by not living up to expectations.

“Pleathe,” he lisps against your mouth, pulling you down for a bruising kiss.

Consent is a go, permission to strip your boyfriend. You’ve gotten so good at this that you don’t even snag his shirt on his horns this time. He even helps you with his jeans, kicking them off once you get them down to his ankles.

And he’s not ready for this at all.

Everything between his legs is on tight lockdown. Not even a hint of swollen gold showing behind black plating. That’s all right. You can work with this. You kiss him, deep demanding, and he pushes his tongue into your mouth as you settle your hand hot heavy on his knee. The inside of his thigh, making him feel each millimeter of heat as contact prickles north.

You rub circles into his groin and he curves, liquid, beneath you, squirming to get closer-away. His hands in your shirt are shaking. His throat sounds like it doesn’t quite know what sounds to make—pained whimpers at the mindfuck in his thinkpan or contented sighs as your fingers get closer to the goal. “Relax,” you breathe into him, and you can feel some of the tension leave his shoulders and settle into his thighs instead. Good. That’s where you want it to be.

By the time your palm grinds into the space between his legs, Sollux is rocking his hips up onto your hand. He can feel this kind of touch through his plating, and you _push_ the heel of your hand against him as hard as you can, muscles cording all the way up your arm. He keens, the sound somewhere between a cat and a cricket, a low sort of continual chirping that only keeps up when you roll the pressure across your palm and into every part of him you can reach right now.

“Shh,” the soft whisper of breeze through trees, and you run your other hand through his hair as the seam of the black scarab covering his seedflaps starts to split under your touch. “I’m going to,” you sort of ask, doodling your fingertips in the damp smear you can feel. He doesn’t always like being touched here—two much, as he’d say, the extra not sitting well with him and making him full-on throw-up dysphoric some days—so you always try to ask, give him time to tell you no.

He nods, horn scraping against your cheekbone, and you push in.

The problem with this being auxiliary to the main goods is that he’s always so _tight_. You plant kisses wherever you can reach and he turns his face up to meet yours when he can; you don’t miss the line furrowed between his brows. “Fuck,” he whispers, tremulous, then when you work in further, “fuck fuck fuck!” each one louder than the last until you’re sure he’s trying to outdo something only he can hear.

“Shut up!” Karkat yells from another part of the house, his voice drifting in clearly through the open door.

“I don’t see you helping!” you remind him. Sollux winces under you. “Sorry,” you say, and kiss his ears to make up for it. “Do you want him here?”

“Two much ath it ith,” and you swear you can hear the misplaced W in the first word.

You kiss him until you’re dizzy. Tender and chaste until your lips buzz with him. Your finger seeks, finds, and his everything seizes. “Breathe,” you remind him, and he sighs out harsh before he holds in a breath so hard his outside ribs start to shake. “Really breathe,” and you show him a cadence by modeling it yourself. Circular breathing, like when you have your panic attacks. In-two-three-four. Hold-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four. Hold-two-three-four.

His chest jostles against yours. You hold him as close as you can, inhaling him—the huff of his sighs, the shampoo lingering in his hair, the smolder of fried electronics. Every exhale of his is intrinsically linked to a moan, pulled out of some deep primal part of him and presented like a gift to you.

You’re not fooling around. Once he can take one, you graduate him to two. His favorite number. Twice the full, stretch, silk-wet pressure. You pull forward with your hand in him and his thighs clamp around your wrist. Bingo. “Don’t fight it?” you plead with him. “Just let it come, I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

He paws at you and misses your mouth when he moves to kiss you again. His fang digs into your lip and you can feel it split. You don’t have time to care. The soft, wet press of his tongue against you as he cleans up after himself more than makes up for it. He’s being so loud right now, angry Tesla pops against your ears, shameless cries as you fingerfuck him like you mean it. “Oh, fuck,” he yowls, “shit, shit, JB, it’s too—I’m gonna—“

“Just like that,” you urge him, working him so hard your fingers are making obscene schlicking noises in him. He clamps down around you and crests, hard. Harder, as you reinforce that you’re not giving up on making him feel good just because his body’s making it hard for you to move. You’ll have to ask Dave later how long this one took. It feels like a world record, but you don’t want to give yourself a gold medal just yet.

You wrenched the first one from him. He has to think the second one is right on its heels. His bulge wraps thick around your wrist as you pull your fingers out, a clear enticement to make him spill from here, too. What little muscle he has is keeping his body on lockdown, rigid, anticipating the rest of it.

“Shoosh,” you tell his body instead, planting a kiss on the top of his head between his horns. He fails to choke down a pornographic moan when you take your fingers away—and then he’s twisting bodily under you once you use that soaked hand to trap his leaking bulge against his stomach. “No, nonononono, shh. Shoosh,” and you wrestle him back down to the mattress.

“But I,” he stutters out. “Pleathe—“ and it dissolves into a whine, the sound broken and reedy. His fingers uncurl from your shirt and immediately go to your forearm, as if he could push you away.

You effortlessly capture both his wrists in one hand and pin them above his head. “Don’t fight me,” you tell him. Not to be mean or anything! You just want to hold him down for a little bit and you don’t want him to hurt himself. “I’ll get the cuffs if you want them, but I—I need to feel your pulse,” and even though it’s such an innocent thing to want you feel like a complete pervert for admitting it.

“I need,” he tries to tell you. As if you didn’t know. “Hurts.”

“I want you to listen.” He still can’t quiet down his rioting body, but you know your words will sink in somehow. “I want you to really _listen_ , ok, I want you to feel this so hard there isn’t room in your head for anything else right now. I need you right here, Sol, ok?”

He tosses his head back, proud, and bites his lip. Baring his throat like that is a sign of submission and trust, and you kiss the jut of his trollish adam’s apple in gratitude for the display. Slowly you take back the weight your hand was placing on his wrists, stop trapping his bulge quite so urgently, and he—he shivers, but he doesn’t move. Maybe immobilized.

You run your hand up his leg like you’d been doing earlier, but before you can even reach his sharkskin a spark arcs from his body to your fingers and leaves you feeling singed from the discharge. “No,” you reproach him, and pinch him where he let off static at you. He lets out a beautiful warble that makes your chest hurt and twists under you, taken by sensation. When you soothe over the mark you just left on his thigh, you can still feel the muscle tense, but that’s good. You want him to tune in to this. How it feels.

“John,” he breathes, and you know he’s out of his mind with the way he’s drooling. “JohnJohnJohn—I can’t, can’t hold it, need to, fuck, I’m almost, I can’t get there, I—“

“I’m going to take care of you,” you promise. When his bulge threatens to sneak between his legs and plunge into his seedflap, you wrestle it into submission until it’s just knotting on itself instead.

Every glancing contact you try to make with his body ends with you being shocked. Like you just shuffled across carpet and Sollux is a doorknob. You grin at the images and bear the brunt of the pain as best you can—this is nothing compared to what’s going on in his head right now, and you can put up with this if it’ll make the horrendous death shrieking go away on his end. To reprimand him, you pinch or slap at each offending patch of skin until his whole body is glowing gold under you.

His claws are digging into his hands so hard they’re actually puncturing skin. When you look down, his toes are ripping the sheets with how hard he’s trying to stay still. He’s both straining to get there and holding back until you guide him there yourself. “I’m so proud of you,” tumbles out of your mouth, raw and honest, and Sollux smiles despite himself. “Ready?”

“Oh god pleathe—“

He barely has time to get it out before you’re wrapping your still-slick hand around his bulge as best you can. The frictionless slide of your fist from root to tapered tip, just once with that same insistent pressure, and he shatters under you, throwing off enough electricity to leave singed holes in the bedsheets as he climaxes for you.

The pure, wordless shriek coming from him is reward in itself. God that’s a lot of cum. That’s. Well. You never liked these sheets anyway. “Go on, babe, smash it!” Dave hollers from downstairs, and you can hear the front door slam. Guess he heard the tail end of that. Hell, the neighbors probably heard it. Alternia probably heard it and it doesn’t even exist any more.

You don’t dignify Dave with a response. Once relief washes through him, Sollux is hollow and shivering.  This is your main priority. You said you’d fix it, and fixing it isn’t over yet. This is step three. This is tethering Sollux to Earth with your body curling around his, lending heat and strength and comfort as he puts together his shattered pieces and collects himself again.

You listen carefully for his breathing. Hold his hands, trying to seem casual but feeling for his pulse—still high but not racing. Good. You stay still, frame his bones, and wait for him to come back to himself.

Dave stops by and knocks on the doorframe. What he’s seeing right now is a very naked gangly troll covered in honey-jizz and a fully-clothed human acting as a living blanket. “C’n I come in?” he asks quietly.

You look down to Sollux. “Sure,” he slurs through his fangs.

In a flash—literally—Dave’s at the side of the bed and reaching over to pet Sollux on the flank. “How’re you feelin’?”

Sollux has to think about it for a moment. The first word he reaches for is buzzy and rich—Alternian. “Better,” he says the second time.

“Water? Chocolate?” he offers, and Sollux nods, chin sharp against your arm. You’d resent Dave for butting in, but you don’t want to leave Sollux alone right now and you appreciate the help. “Be right back,” and in literally two seconds you can hear cabinets knocking around in the kitchen downstairs. Flash-stepping asshole.

You draw your thumb across a sharp cheekbone. Trace the lines of Sollux’s face. “Is everything as loud as it was?”

“Manageable.” Then, “Quieter.” Sollux burrows deeper into your hold, not seeming to care that he’s covered with the stickiest cum of all time.

Somehow Dave manages not to spill the glass of water in his hands when he flash-steps up the stairs. “Guess I gotta be your butler, ‘cause it looks like your ass just got served,” he tells Sollux, which gets an amused huff out of the troll. “Here,” Dave says, and slaps something down on the hulk of your shoulder.

A washcloth. Duh. You were in a hurry when you started this or you’d have had this ready at hand once you were done. Dave pushes a piece of chocolate into Sollux’s mouth, then outright climbs into the bed once you start wiping him down. “We’re gonna take care of you,” Dave reminds him, and the last of the bone-deep tension seeps out from Sollux’s frame once Dave starts spooning him. Red and blue. He’s perfectly satiated now.

And once Dave reaches for you, kissing you over Sollux’s shoulder, so are you.


	21. Shower Sex

The shower has to have been going for at least fifteen minutes by the time you get out of bed and head for the bathroom yourself. It’s probably just on morning rotation—one of you finishes, the next one hops in, there’s some elbowing and making sure no one runs out of hot water, but generally it’s genial.

Today, when you open the door, you’re met with a face full of steam. The mirror is fogged over, Alternian letters scribbled across it in stark outline. And behind the pebbled glass of the shower door is a smear of gray. “Mmh, evening,” Sollux calls to you sleepily.

“Morning,” you correct him, smiling. “Coming in—“

You open the shower door and find Karkat on his knees with Sollux’s bulge crammed in his mouth. “Want thome?” says the troll who’s not otherwise incapacitated.

“For god’s sake,” you grumble, and shut the door.

There’s a muffled mumble under the stream of the shower, and then one of them makes a gasping sound. Probably Karkat, confirmed when a scratchy voice speaks up. “John, don’t be a dillweed,” he says affectionately, “get the fuck in here.”

“No.” You desperately need to shave. Your razor is in the shower. Fuck. “Sol, hand me my razor?”

“Nope.”

“Just use your psionics, you don’t even have to get out,” you cajole him.

“Can’t,” he says instead. “I’ll kill KK.”

Right. Electricity and water. “Are we so sure that’s a bad thing?” So sue you. You’re pissy. Mornings are not your favorite times.

“I’d rather not,” Karkat yells at you, but you can clearly tell he has his mouth full.

“Mhh, we were about to—to,” Sollux starts out with, then chitters audibly. “Get out thoon anyway, _fuck_ , KK…”

Why must these two magnificent bastards constantly ruin your life in the best ways. You shuck your boxers and hop in the shower to find Sollux hunching over, his hands clenched in Karkat’s hair around his horns, as Karkat’s throat makes these obscene swallowing, gagging sounds. “Close?” you ask, and both of them nod frantically.

You curl up behind Sollux, skin soap-slick sliding, and sling an arm around his front to hold him close. Feels like he might collapse otherwise. “JB, shit, I,” Sollux says incoherently, and arches so he can rest his head on your shoulder.

“Gotcha,” you reassure him, holding him up with your forearm just under his ribs. Your other hand sneaks between his legs—your fingers find Karkat’s chin when they slip too far forward, but then you dawdle your fingertips right at the part of Sollux’s seedflaps. Sollux reaches back, grabs at your thigh insistently, rakes against your skin. Totally worth it. You smear his eager drool between his legs, and Karkat swallows, and you kiss Sollux’s ear when you whisper “let go, honey.”

You stagger a little as Sollux’s full weight leans against you, helpless, while he spills. A gush of honey coats your fingers; Karkat’s mouth, already smeared in gold, is pouring out a torrent past his lips as Sollux’s bulge pulses, then pulls back. On his knees like that, with wet hair and water pouring down his face, Karkat looks a little pathetic, and you caress his cheek once the shower spray blasts off the worst of Sollux from the fingers he made filthy. Karkat smirks up at you, inordinately proud, and with his throat coated, his voice doesn’t come out so scratchy when he speaks this time. “Jealous?”

“God, yes,” rushes out of your mouth. And it could’ve been you, if you hadn’t hit snooze twice this morning.

“You don’t have to be,” Sollux points out blearily, reaching out for the shower wall so he can stabilize himself on something other than you.

“Um. Yes I do?” Karkat may be really good at giving head, but you’re still loath to subject anyone in this house to your crotch monster shoved down their esophagus or troll equivalent.

Karkat actually snarls at you. Not a morning person either. “I don’t give a lumpsquirting, gold-plated _shit_ if you’re a friendleader, _you_ don’t tell _me_ what the fuck to do.”

Which is how you end up sticky and wet, right under the shower spray with Karkat swallowing you down. “Don’t let him,” you tell Sollux weakly, _don’t let him take the whole thing_ , because Karkat’s going to let himself get carried away here soon and you don’t want to hurt him.

Sollux just spoons up behind you instead, one hand lazily carding shampoo through your hair, the other wrapping around the base of your cock. Karkat’s mouth on you stops on every dip when his lips hit Sollux’s fingers. And the gentle strokes he’s giving you don’t hurt either. These two are amazing. “Tho good,” Sollux hums behind you, and licks a long stripe along the slope of your shoulder. “You’re tho good, JB, jutht fucking _look_ at you…”

“Karkat,” comes out shaky. “Karkat, that’s—holy crap, I—oh, _wow_ —babe, I, shit, getting,” it’s not just that your brain hasn’t had a chance to come online, it’s that Karkat’s mouth is sinfully hot and slick around your cock, tongue thick-wet stroking at you with every nod of his head and swirling on the off-stroke.

Sollux’s one hand starts jacking you off more purposefully. If you could purr like trolls can, that’s what you’d be doing at the feel of his fingertips against your scalp, ostensibly trying to get you clean even as Karkat sucks you filthy. Low in your ear, Sollux murmurs, “Thpill in hith mouth.”

“But I—“

“He liketh it,” Sollux reminds you, and does that one-two-three-four pulse with his grip that drives you insane.

It doesn’t take much persuading. You brace yourself against the shower wall and pulse against Karkat’s tongue and Sollux’s fingers, giving Karkat all you have. He swallows it, because trolls are filthy pervs and like the taste of boycum because of all the hormones it carries, and you’ll never get over that satisfied smile on his face when he pulls off. “What did I fucking tell you before I got my mouth on your bulge?” Karkat says.

“Uh.” Your short-term memory is a blank slate right now.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the short troll says contemptuously, and barrels out of the shower.

“Um,” you say again, because you’re barely articulate at the best of times. “What did I do?” you ask Sollux weakly.

“Told him what to do.” You can feel Sollux shrug behind you, the jut of his shoulder jostling against your back. “He thinks he can take the whole thing.”

“No,” you say instinctively, because you’re fairly sure the head of your dick will get stuck in his troll dura mater and swirl around in his thinkpan if he tries to do that. Maybe you won the genetic lottery, but when you can’t do stuff like this, it blows—no pun intended.

“Yes,” Sollux insists. “If he can take all of me…” He lets it trail off, kissing you on the cheek before getting out of the shower.

You’re left to ponder this while you rinse the shampoo out of your hair and start lathering up the soap. Your dick certainly seems interested enough, even though it still seems physically impossible to you. Still. Today. Maybe won’t suck. What a fucking morning. This is the circus of a house you live in.

Someone else opens the bathroom door. “Get out,” Dave grumbles at you.

“Get in,” you tell him instead.

What he does is open the shower door to bodily pull you out from under the spray. Belatedly you grab your razor so you can start to work on your face. Don’t want to be giving anybody beard-burn if you can help it. Maybe a minute and a half into shaving, Dave yelps. “God damn it, who’s the asshole who ran us out of hot water?”

Circus. You roll your eyes and rinse the shaving cream off your razor.


	22. On the Desk

“Webcam working?” you ask Sollux.

He nods tersely. “I don’t know what you did to it last time that fucked it up so badly, but it’s back online.”

“I… don’t really think fluids and electronics mix all that well.” Your fault, really. This is what happens when there’s four of you and one of you isn’t home—the webcam takes the cumshots to the face. Oops.

Speaking of not home… “Should we call KK?”

“I don’t know,” you pretend to muse, bringing your lips down to Sollux’s neck. You’re behind him as he’s leaned over the desk, your hips pushing his into the edge of the furniture. He holds his head to the side so you can lick a stripe up the column of his throat. “Should we get a little further along first?”

“Nah. Tease the bastard.” Still, it comes out more than a little breathy.

“More like tease you,” you call his bluff. When you push up his shirt, you dive down with your mouth, sloppily kissing every rung of his torso column as you strip him. “Like this?”

“Yeah.” That one’s pure sigh, and you relish it when you card through his hair—fist your fingers in it, then yank backwards. The sharp intake of breath is totally worth it, especially the way it bares the sensitive part of his throat to you. Submissive. “In the—the back,” he stutters as you mouth your way down one of his shoulders.

“Well, that involves getting your pants off,” you point out.

“Clothes,” Sollux grumbles, and starts to work on his button and fly. If he were wearing normal-person jeans, it wouldn’t be such a hassle every time you want to see him naked, but you kind of like what skinny jeans do to his legs. Makes him look about three miles tall. “You’d better strip too.”

“Yes, but. Hear me out. What if I didn’t.” Mostly because you’re lazy and you don’t want to give up the full-body contact between your chest and Sollux’s back. As he straightens up, he forms himself to your body again, inch for inch nestled as close as he can. The lump in your pants is squarely between his asscheeks and he knows, the little bitch, because he grinds back against you just the slightest bit, just enough. “What if,” and your voice cracks, “what if I just took my dick out.”

“It’ll drive KK inthane,” and there goes the lisp, a telltale sign that Sollux is getting turned on by this, too. “Do it.”

“Call him,” you tell him, and start undoing your shorts.

The Skype call starts its connecting bleeps and bloops. You have it set to video, right? Right. And you did an audio check before this, too, to make sure nothing else about the system was effed up because of your escapades. While the call goes through, you skim your hand down Sollux’s front—he doesn’t have a full-on wriggly yet, but he’s getting there, helped along by the cup of your palm over the keratin ridges of his bulge.

The call connects and Karkat’s on the other end, face taking up the whole frame. Computer backlighting doesn’t look good on him—he looks exhausted. A little red in the face, even. “Hey,” comes out kinda strangled. You know this is getting to him: he has a Thing, a voyeurism-exhibitionism mobius double reacharound people-he-cares-about-doing-the-do Thing, and you’re all too willing to play into it when you can.

“Thup, KK,” Sollux offers. His eyes flutter shut as his bulge springs out into your waiting hand. “We—we were jutht—“

“Oh, fuck, _right there_ ,” Karkat interrupts him.

Wait a minute. “Karkat?” you ask, though you’re not sure you’re going to like the answer to this next question. “What was that?”

The laptop gets jostled on the other end. Instead of just Karkat’s face, now it’s pointed more towards the ceiling, and an expanse of pale is draped over the troll’s grey back. And you’re looking right at a douchey pair of coolkid shades and a smirk that goes on for leagues. “Sup, losers.”

“Losers yourself, you fucking got started without us,” you complain, and tug Sollux’s bulge a little more meaningfully. Sollux collapses onto his elbows, head bowed, and you gift him with little kisses right on the spur of bone at the base of his neck.

“Sorry, _Dad_ ,” Dave snarks back at you. The laptop jostles again—just a little. A shove, probably. Into Karkat, who makes this delicious whining noise, and from what you can see backs right up into it. “Didn’t know we were gonna get grounded for takin’ some initiative here.”

“Strider,” you warn him. He’s going the right way for a smacked ass. You make do by smacking the one in front of you, fingers slipping. A fingertip finds Sollux’s backdoor. It’s already slicked with lube from his bulge, and you start a slow press into him. “How long have you guys been going at it?”

“Don’t kno—ohhh,” Karkat offers, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Three minutes since I jellied my manrammer up his tailhole,” Dave clarifies. “And… thirty seconds. Thirty-one. You’re late calling us, we started fourteen minutes and twenty-five seconds ago.”

“Yeah, well, thomebody broke the,” Sollux starts to say, before your fingertip finds a sensitive spot and a fizzle of sparks rains down his back. “Shit, oh shit, JB, right there!”

“Better act fast, this one’s not gonna make it,” Dave points out. Probably right. Karkat’s already drooling incoherent at the sight of you and Sollux through the Internet.

“Karkat.” He doesn’t listen. “Karkat!” you say again, more forcefully. That’s the tone that makes his head snap up. “Hold it,” you order him from three hundred miles away, and his entire body makes this chittering rasp of a noise that escapes him from under his vestigial legs.

“Shoosh,” Sollux offers, trying to be helpful, but it gets caught behind his teeth as you sneak a second finger in him. “Oh, jeethuth,” and he rolls his hips into your hand, encouraging you further, deeper.

Dave, as per usual, doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. King of the running commentary, this one. “You gonna get your meat hammer in him sometime this century, Egbert?”

“Shut up,” you tell him, and go for the gold. “Not my fault you’re impatient.”

“Watch who you’re calling impatient, fuckface, I am a goddamn Knight of Time and I demand your respect.” Still, his hips stutter a little bit, and he plants a hand down right beside Karkat’s shoulder. The camera on the other end dips. So they have their laptop on the mattress.

Wish you’d thought of that earlier. Still, what’s life without a little adventure? It’s hard enough getting Sollux away from computers as it is, and you really shouldn’t encourage him, but you need him right now—need all of them, wish Dave and Karkat were here too, not the same without other breaths and heartbeats and skin and mouths and hands and parts.

The sounds you’re getting through the computer, the pathetic 600x400 window on the screen, is going to have to be enough. And the warm-blooded troll under you, searing hot as you press into him, tight and tensing and greedy. “Shh, you’re doing so good,” and you have no idea who you’re saying it to but the beauty of it is that it could apply to anyone.

Sollux reaches behind blindly. Finds your hair at first, then lets his hand slip down to the back of your neck, scraping you up a little. You probably deserve it. “I’m not a fucking grub, I can take it, _give it to me_ ,” he insists.

“See, look,” Dave narrates to Karkat, even as you get your hips flush with Sollux’s rear. “That’s how you take it like a man and not like a little bitch.”

The growl coming through your speakers is nowhere near as impressive as you know it is in person, but you can still feel the fear prickling along your skin, raising goosebumps as it goes. “Shut up and fuck me before I rip your bulge off and shove it down your throat,” rumbles through Karkat’s chest, surprisingly coherent even as he pulls Dave’s hips as close as they’ll go.

The view from the webcam starts bobbing up and down a little. Just the slightest bit as every thrust moves through the mattress. You fist a hand in Sollux’s hair and the sparks between his horns catch you at the wrist, even though he cries out and arches for you as you pull away. Slam, so hard everything on the desk teeters for a second or two, and Sollux reaches out for the keyboard. The chat input on the Skype call gets filled with gibberish text. Slam again, and you can see Sollux’s bulge writhing sloppy against the desk, spreading his honey everywhere.

This is going to be dirty. Might as well face up to it. Can’t even pretend to make this slow and sweet any more, all of you need it too badly. You work up to a brutal pace, shoving Sollux’s head down to the surface of the desk, and from what you can see of the other end, Dave matches your cadence thrust for thrust. Both of you have your laps full of chirping, warbling troll. Karkat’s bulge is so swollen it can’t even knot in on itself to get friction, just sloppy slithering along his thigh instead. He needs to spill and fast.

Which means you need to get Sollux there, so you can get there, so Dave can get there. Funny how things work with the four of you. “Ready when you are,” Dave pants out. Getting to him—the most patient person you know, teasing aside, discomposed by having to wait for what he wants. And you know he gets off on being an attention whore, too, so having two sets of eyes on him from so far away is guaranteed to obliterate him.

“Karkat,” you say again. “Look at me.” He looks straight at the webcam, eyes impossibly wide, mouth wet and open, and god if you were there you’d just cram your fingers in there to give him something to suck on. “Not yet,” and he keeps looking at you, holding your gaze, god his eyes are beautiful, something behind them set on fire as he croons at what Dave’s doing to him. “Tell me how close you are.”

He lets loose a mash of fluted vowels and inhuman, mandible-heavy consonants. Can’t even speak English. That’s a good sign. Of course, that means you’re counting on a translation from someone. “He’s gonna—nngh,” Dave speaks up, “gonna reach through the, fucking, the laptop and strangle you to death if you—if you don’t, ah fuck, let him blow his little troll wad right the fuck now, and I’m right there with him at this point, would you just—fucking—“

You hammer into Sollux, so hard the slap of skin-on-skin actually stings, and wrestle his writhing bulge into submission. “Both at once,” you tell him.

“I can’t,” he whines, but a shiver runs down his spine. It scares him. For good reason. He might actually pass out, like he did the last time he tried that. Even still, you guide his bulge between his legs and it eagerly starts burrowing into his seedflaps.

“Oh, _shit_ , Sol, I can _feel_ that,” you mumble helplessly into his back, your buck teeth catching on the blade of his shoulder. His entire body is tensing, joints locking up, tendons in stark relief under his skin, and you thrust, take, harder, more, until, “now, Karkat, now, do it now, oh fuck!”

The tail end of your sentence gets cut off with a yowl from the other end of the connection—Karkat has his head thrown back, literally howling his way through his orgasm. Behind him Dave is stunningly still, hands grasping at Karkat’s sides so hard his fingertips are making dents in his sharkskin—he’s quiet, always has been, but you can nearly feel the stutter in his breathing from so far away. God, you want to, you can’t quite, Sollux hasn’t yet, but then “JB, I’m—hhh,” stutters out of his throat as he promptly spills down his thighs.

That’s what you were waiting for. The second you feel him lose it, you bury yourself in him and ride it out, white-hot electric searing down your spine like a bolt of lightning and it might even be literal as static electricity makes every hair on your body stand on end.

There’s a lot of interference from the mics on the Skype feed as the two guys on the other end catch their breaths. You and Sollux aren’t doing much better. Still nestled in him, you trail your mouth along his neck, up to his ear, lick along it, and Sollux turns his head to properly kiss you. God, but he tastes good after he comes. Must be that pheromone thing he’s always talking about with you. “Fuck,” Karkat says, and out of the corner of your eye you can see his entire body seize.

Aftershocks. Come to think of it, you’re glad Sollux didn’t fry this computer. “Mith you guyth,” he says as his mouth slips away from yours.

“Miss you too, donglord,” Dave says affectionately, and promptly collapses onto Karkat’s back, flattening him to the bed.

“Oof,” Karkat lets out, but doesn’t try to move. “Two more days.”

You can feel Sollux smiling at that. “Thee you thoon,” he says, and then quits the call.

The room almost seems too big now that it’s just the two of you—even though it was the two of you the whole time. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” Still sounds shaky, though. “I could uthe a shower once you get out of my ath.”

“Oh.” Right. At this point you’re practically stuck together with sex-sweat and other miscellaneous fluids, but you disengage as gently as you can. “That was good. You were good.”

“Two by two,” Sollux purrs as he kisses you again. Even played right into his fetish. Perfect. You couldn’t have orchestrated it any better if you tried.


End file.
